Test Drive 01

[cognitivus]

ɢᴇᴛ ᴄʟᴜsᴛᴇʀᴇᴅ

A Sense8 AU Sandbox

IN THE BEGINNING

It doesn't happen all at once — the world does not reorient itself and thrust upon you seven other cluster mates. No, it happens in stages. Snatches at a time. Moments, sometimes individually, sometimes in sets of two or three. Maybe you're reading a book, and you notice someone sitting beside you on the couch. Maybe you're surfing, and suddenly there's a second person on the board. Maybe you see them in passing, or maybe you both stand there, face to face, equally confused, wondering how you can both speak the same language when one of you is from Middle Earth and the other is clearly in Tokyo.

There's time to talk. Time to figure it out.

Unless, of course, there isn't. It's entirely possible that your first meeting is not during a calm, cozy, collected moment. Maybe you call on one of your sensates during a time of need. A fight, a chase scene, a moment of public speaking in the spotlight. A time when you're truly out of your depth, and you need someone with a particular, complimentary set of skills that can step in on your behalf.

It's time.

warnings : violence, psychological horror

GETTING STARTED

WELCOME TO THE CLUSTER!


On this TDM, don't worry too much about your official cluster pairing. This is for either workshopping different combinations, or different characters. If, in the end, you find you really like a certain combination, simply be sure to ask to be in the same cluster as the folks you've threaded with! For now, worry instead about playing out first meetings. It could look a little something like this:

Tag in with your character name & canon.

Set a scene by providing a variety of moments other characters can witness and jump into.

If you're going to tag into the same prompt someone else has already tagged into, consider making it a group thread; the premise eof this sandbox revolves highly around multi-person interactions. Don't be shy! These are your cluster mates, after all.

Or, if you're feeling especially daring and dramatic (and let's face it, we all are):

Set up a scene from an impactful moment around your intended canonpoint.

AU it to your heart's content. Maybe things go exactly the same as they did in canon, or maybe with a sensate cluster influencing things, it begins the path that deviates things wildly from the canon we all know and love. It's entirely up to you!

---

NETWORK USAGE

Communication via text is still very possible!

Through the magic of the powers of the human mind, that group text across universes still totally exists. Maybe it appears as an actual text chain to you, or maybe it's freshly dried ink on that magical scroll that keeps writing itself the more messages are exchanged.

Whatever the case, your mind retains the communications written down by your cluster, and all correspondences to one another are visible — unless otherwise stated to be private, of course. Create a prompt on your top level with some inbox action, and do a little lowkey texting!

Be sure to specify if a thread is private, otherwise you may have a handful of other folks chiming in with their opinion on your back-and-forth exchange at any time!

---

ANYTHING ELSE

Check out the info page for details, or post to the enable me please meme with information about characters you're considering bringing in! If you have any additional questions, feel free to ask me below, or on plurk!

Comments

little moments

[brandingproblem]

He might seem normal. If he's not in the midst of something that obviously keeps him in his place.
-Walking his pitbull dog, Kuba, around New York, or maybe tossing a ball for him in a park
-Trying to practice playing guitar, a clearly new thing for him
-Little chores around the apartment, cooking, cleaning, or just otherwise trying to relax around a small table that holds many uses
-Oh, what's this? Planning some kind of event (like a murder, an infiltration, an interrogation) with Frank like this is a totally normal thing people do?? Don't even worry about it babes
-Out in public somewhere, running errands with some cash on hand, and it's totally fine the way he's either completely ignored or treated like property, nbd...

[aperturesubject0001]

The building he's walking past has one of those big glass lobbies where, when the sun is at the right angle, the front walls turn into mirrors. You can see everything in that reflection: the cars creeping along in traffic, the bike messenger coming up fast behind him, vantage points across the street, the woman in orange matching his stride exactly where his own reflection should be.

Wait.

What?

[brandingproblem]

His eyes have always been keen. Where most people might think there's a trick of the light, might double take, might keep walking on until realizing something is wrong a little later, he trusts in what he sees. And he sees something not right.

His reflection is Not Right, and his attention is precisely honed on this fact.

He sidesteps the bike without the messenger having to swerve around him, ignores everyone else to approach the wrong reflection, tips his(?) head. "Hi?"

[aperturesubject0001]

There aren't a lot of reflective surfaces in the testing facility. What there are are portals. Chell has gotten used to the experience of looking through a fizzing orange hole in the wall and seeing herself in two places at once.

Looking through and seeing someone else? Not so used to it.

She approaches the portal as Clint approaches the windows, gazing at him in confused fascination.

Hello. A wave -- no, a sign, the fingers of her free hand tapping her forehead and moving out to the side. Her dominant hand is holding a bulky white-and-black gun of some kind, hanging down at her side, which makes her next signs more casual.

You shouldn't ... be here.

[brandingproblem]

She moves her hand, and he understands what she's saying. It barely even strikes him as odd; he simply does understand. What he understands a little less is the bit of tech on her other hand, and then at her feet.

"You shouldn't be--"

Wait. Where exactly is here? Because there's a moment when he's in New York, and then there's a moment when he sees beyond the reflection into what looks like a really crazy laboratory space and some glowing lights. "Nnnno, yeah, I think you shouldn't be there, either."

[aperturesubject0001]

Chell looks back over her shoulder, blinking as if she's seeing the place for the first time. Maybe part of her is.

I'm almost done with this chamber. Piece of cake.

She turns back to Clint with a shrug. Behind her, something goes zzzpew and a large, glowing ball of energy shoots upward at a leisurely pace. Chell ignores it. The High Energy Pellets are easily understood. The man in front of her isn't.

(And yet -- it feels like there's something about him she understands better than she's ever understood anything. Like part of the world that was always crooked has just righted itself.)

Where did you come from?

[brandingproblem]

Somehow, something about cake seems funny. He's not sure why.

"New York." Well. It's not where he's from, but it's where he's from...right now? He raises his hand as though to see if the glass is still there or if there's a portal and--

--then he's standing on the platform beside her. And when he looks at the portal, he sees her. And only her. And that's--you know what, that's okay, just, figure things out one thing at a time. "What is this?"

He's not actually talking about what's going on with them. He crouches, looks out over the area. Watches a ball of electricity just kinda meander up into a path and fizzle out harmlessly on a wall. Surveys the land, looks at the portal again...

"A puzzle?"

[aperturesubject0001]

You'd think she'd jump, at the sudden introduction of another person in the space, but she doesn't. It seems as unnaturally natural as seeing him through the portal in the first place. Impossible and concrete at once.

A test. She hefts the portal gun up, supporting it with her dominant hand, and gives Clint a nod that communicates Watch this.

Aiming the gun at one of the blank walls, she eyes her target, eyes the pellet emitter, then fires off one portal at the wall and one at the ceiling in rapid succession, just as a new pellet comes pew-ing out of the emitter. The portals behind her and Clint disappear; the pellet sails along, goes in one portal, comes out the other at a perpendicular angle, and makes its way to the pellet receiver. With a noise of electricity and gears, the receiver closes up -- and across the room, a platform well above their heads starts to slide along a track.

See? It's silly to feel proud of such a simple demonstration, maybe, but there's definitely satisfaction in her expression when she looks at Clint. Easy. I need to get up there next. Want to jump with me?

[brandingproblem]

This is, to his knowledge, not any tech that even Tony Stark's been able to conjure up. He can see the theory, sees it in practice. Bend space with fancy holes. But it's still so damn weird that it strains him for a second. Almost like an Escher painting. He can see the reflection of the emitter through the hole where it should absolutely not be seen, and it makes him feel a little dizzy for a moment.

A test. A puzzle. Same thing, in the end.

And then she says jump, and it's not wariness because she knows what she's talking about, but maybe skeptical is the best word to describe his expression. He looks up at the platform. Down at their legs. "I'm not sure even springs for heels are gonna get you up there."

No, wait. Test. Puzzle. Give him a second, he's new. "Do we..." His tongue pokes out a little at the corner between his teeth, a thing he does when he's deeply concentrating. "Shoot one up above the platform. And," with a motion to the wall behind them, "there, and drop out onto it?"

[aperturesubject0001]

Vigorous nod!

You get it! Oh-- She also glances down at their legs with a frown. These are shock absorbers. That drop doesn't look too bad, but for you ...

She looks up at the platform, unconsciously echoing Clint's gesture and catching her tongue in her teeth. It's maybe fifteen feet? Might be a hard landing. But if velocity maintains between portals and they just step through the first one--?

"Hey there."

Chell jumps and turns to face whoever just addressed her -- them -- Clint? -- and then blinks hard. The chamber is gone. She's standing beside Clint ona bustling sidewalk, and a woman in a security uniform is approaching with polite menace.

"You got anywhere to be?"

[brandingproblem]

He's thinking about the fact that maybe he's not actually here, but she certainly is, and maybe the puzzle is a little simple when he gets the idea of what her weird arm gun can do, but it feels good to figure--

--that he's still in his own world. Oh. Right.

Right, he looks like a crazy person, huh. Not really a strange thing in a big city, but for a collar? His posture goes a little more stiff. Proper, but not military straight. His gaze goes more distant, looking in the security officer's direction but not at her.

"Yes, ma'am. Sorry, ma'am." Does he say anything else or leave it at that? Hm. He makes a choice, leaves it at that, because the longer he lingers, the more trouble that might cause. So he turns and keeps going where he's supposed to actually be going, and he expects...Chell? Is that short for something? Rachel? Hm. Expects that she'll just follow.

"Sorry," he says quietly to his new friend.

[aperturesubject0001]

Chell stays staring at the woman for a moment, bewildered, and suddenly angry. What gives her the right to speak to him -- them? -- like that?

The woman continues to ignore Chell completely. Her eyes are on Clint's back, mistrustful but already shading back to boredom. Chell feels a strong urge to pop a portal under her feet. Put the other one about six feet up a wall. Nothing that would do more than bruise a person's ego.

Her thoughts of petty revenge will have to wait, though. She realizes Clint's moving away and turns to hurry after him. Who knows what would happen if they got separated? And besides -- she wants to make sure he's okay. Needs to.

You were just standing there! What's her problem?

[brandingproblem]

"The problem is that I was just standing there." He shoves his hands in his pockets, feels the wad of cash Frank had shoved at him. He's only going to a pet store, doesn't even need the van to carry anything back with him, but Frank always makes sure to give him more than he needs in case he sees something he wants for himself.

It's a process. He loves the clothes he picked for himself. But it isn't something he's used to, the idea of wanting something and then getting it. Nothing makes the metal around his neck feel heavier than when his two different realities clash.

"You should go back to your test. Hope it isn't timed." Although, even just watching her walk, he still has about a hundred (million) questions. "Doesn't that hurt your feet?"

[cognitivus]

The apartment is small. The table is comprehensive. On it, all the trappings one would need for packing their own rounds. Pieces of disassembled gun. A dog sleeps in the corner. An intimidating, broad-looking man with short-cropped dark hair sits methodically cleaning his weapons.

And then there's Clint, sitting across from him. It's Clint that he addresses when he quietly says, "I'm going to assume most of this isn't for recreational use."

Notably, the dark-haired man doesn't look up, or flinch, or give any indication that he's heard a new presence in the room. And he most certainly would have, were Will actually present.

[brandingproblem]

Clint's brow furrows. Will's here, and Will...should not be here? There doesn't feel like a good reason, because there's nothing here for him to do. Maybe he's just bored or lonely.

Clint is sharpening a knife. Will's appearance has him pausing. "It's work," is what he eventually decides to say.

[cognitivus]

Across from him, Frank's eyes lift from the piece he's cleaning with a quiet, curious, "Hmm?"

Will studies Frank's face, his brow faintly furrowed, studious, curious, thoughtful. He passes around the table, moving in closer to get a better look — and he is looking, looking in a way he normally doesn't with strangers, because-

"This is the person that owns you?" It's asked simply, not with judgment. Neutral. The cultural differences in their universe may be complex; he knows he's not equipped to understand the interpersonal dynamic at play here yet. Making assumptions about how either of them feel about the arrangement won't benefit him. He wants to understand.

[brandingproblem]

Ah. Ha. Okay, that's interesting. And kind of a little horrifying? Frank can hear him talk to his friend-partner-person in another part of the country. In another world? Hell, would that even be the weirdest thing for them to hear at this point?

He looks to Frank, shakes his head slowly, gives a casual shrug. "Nothing. Thinking out loud." With a stretch, he sets down the knife, stands. "Be right back." Like he's going to take a leak. Heads off in that direction, expecting Will to follow, so they can maybe have a conversation that isn't too loud or something.

It's when he closes the bathroom door that he realizes maybe 'I'm going to make sure Kuba's gotten a nice long walk first' would've been the smarter excuse, but, here they are.

"It's complicated," then, to the mirror. "Short answer: no."

[cognitivus]

He lingers behind for a moment, studying Frank as Clint paces away — but follows, in the end, before he's completely out of sight. Has to, because technically speaking, his awareness extends only as far as Clint's. Clint's mind can back-fill a lot, but he doesn't actually have eyes in the back of his head. Once Frank stops being in his visual and auditory range, he stops being something Will can observe.

Instead, the mirror — where he stands in place of Clint's reflection, looking back at him. It's a bizarre perspective, not something chosen intentionally. Maybe this, too, is a product of Clint's mind. What he expects to see when he looks into it.

Will finds himself standing in the restroom at Quantico, with its too-red walls and too-white porcelain, his weapon holstered on his hip, his badge hanging around his neck. His hands curled around the sink, staring into the mirror where Clint is reflected back at him.

"What's the long answer?"

[brandingproblem]

This is all something to get used to. He's more used to it already than he feels like he should be, given he's someone Weird Things simply don't happen to, but it does take him a moment, seeing through a mirror and seeing someone else, someplace else. There's a worry at the back of his mind that Frank's going to overhear him talking to himself like a lunatic.

That he'll decide it's Canada time, that there will be people up there who can help him, that Frank will blame himself for letting Clint get so much worse without ever realizing it--

What's the long answer? "He bought me. But not in his name. So the legality of it is questionable at best, complete shit at worst. And he doesn't treat me like a collar, never has. He owns me in that he exchanged money for my person, doesn't in that he's legally kinda not and doesn't act like an owner." Clint waggles a hand. "I know it bothers him, sometimes. A lot of the time."

[cognitivus]

Like a collar; so that's what it's called here. Not slave. Sure, that makes sense. Call a man a slave owner and they're forced to confront the ethics of what they're doing to a person. Call them by the noun they wear around their neck and it's less something that's being done to them and more something they are. Clever little bit of linguistic twisting to accommodate the sensibilities of the subjugating masses.

"I can imagine why," he says simply. "Legal slavery was abolished where I come from. It's widely regarded as one of the greatest atrocities in human history."

Which isn't to say it isn't still practiced, but it's done in shadows, in secret. It's done in ways that are highly illegal, and it's considered deeply disgusting to the average person.

He still manages to sound neutral, lacking in judgment, when he asks, "If it makes him feel guilty, why did he buy you?"

It's possible that Will feels a little... protective. Hannibal would probably have a thing or two to say about Will's thing about strays with neglectful, unfit owners.

[brandingproblem]

"Needed to find the guy who owned me before that. Before he put me up for auction." After running away. Stray dog. Sure as hell got treated worse than the dog. "Needed information from him. Easy way to find him, get the layout of the place, what kind of resistance to expect."

Will doesn't sound like he's judging. Even though his words almost sound like they're judging Frank. And sure. Maybe it's a protective streak in Clint to try and correct any misunderstandings about that. "Frank doesn't believe in collars. I'm the same as him, far as he's concerned. He's...really aware of the differences, though."

[cognitivus]

He can sense it, that protectiveness in Clint. That eagerness to correct assumptions he believes Will to be making. It's not entirely unfounded; less than charitable alternatives are one of many possibilities floating around in Will's mind.

"You care about him a lot," he observes gently. That, he can feel. It's more than just looking and empathizing, it's deeper than that — Will can feel it as though it's coming from himself. It's strong, it's impulsive, it's deeply loyal. Not the toxic kind of care one feels for an abuser; it's kinder than that. More whole.

He wonders if this man — Frank — feels the same way about Clint. He'll have to pay attention in the future, when they're together in the same room again. He'll get a look through Clint's eyes while they talk. Make up his own mind about the man later.

"Do you plan to tell him about this?"

It's not a demand. He'll conform to whatever Clint's comfortable with; if he rather Will not speak to him while he's in the room with Frank, he'll accommodate that. He's not sure how practical it is to run to the bathroom like this to carry on a conversation, but if that's what Clint wants, he'll understand.

[brandingproblem]

"He's good to me," Clint confirms. "Thousand different times I could've left, and I won't."

Frank won't hurt him. Frank doesn't lie to him. Frank treats him better than basically anyone ever has. He cares. A lot. It's the kind of loyalty in him his other owners have only ever dreamed of instilling in him.

"I don't...know how. I don't know what to say that doesn't sound insane. Do you think I should?" Because Will's smart, and Will's part of him more importantly, and Will can see the kinds of angles that Clint's blind to. It's an opinion he'll take to heart. "Have you told anyone? Your therapist?"

[cognitivus]

"I've considered it," he admits, turning to press his back to the sink counter. He's in the same room with Clint again, side by side; Clint facing the mirror, Will facing away from it. Here, he scrubs his hands over his face and puffs out a soft, humorless laugh. "I'm going through a psychological evaluation period after Hobbs. I-"

This is... a little embarrassing. Not as much as it could be, but more than he really intended to admit to Clint.

"I used to be a cop. Before I worked for the FBI. I was in homicide, but it... didn't work out. I could never manage to pull the trigger in the field." The expression on his face twists, something pained, a little wry, a little bitter. "Finally mustering the gall seems to have set off a few red flags. I'm trying to figure out if telling my therapist about the voices in my head is the best idea before I've got job security."

Technically, Hannibal already rubber-stamped him. It just seems like it'd be unethical of him not to rescind that if he finds out something like this.

But-

"I think I don't spend nearly as much time with my therapist as you spend with Frank. I think it'd be a good idea to tell him sooner rather than later, and I have an idea of how to prove it, whenever you're ready to."

[brandingproblem]

Could never manage to pull the trigger, and technically, he still hasn't. Change of habits, and actually killing someone, yeah, he can see Will getting looked at. Make sure he's okay after something like that. "Do you think you could've? Would've?" Pulled the trigger. "You weren't in a good place. I'm good at that stuff, though. Got trained young." How young, he declines to say at the moment unprompted.

But yeah. Maybe saying 'I didn't shoot anyone, one of several voices and selves from different universes took over my body and shot him' wouldn't sound good for a sensitive work thing. Wouldn't sound good to Frank, either, he thinks. How can he trust anything Clint does or says if he suddenly could be someone else?

"Do you want Kuba to do a sniff check? Or," and he's hesitant, first, because it's weird and it's intimate in a way, but Frank's been silently teaching him a lot about touch communication. But Clint lifts a hand, furrow deep between his brows, and lays it on Will's chest. Feels real. Feels really real under his hand. "Just start touching like I'm gonna look like a mime?"